


Room for Two

by coffeestainanalyst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky thinks he deserves all the bad things, Civil War compliant up until the mid-credits scene, Guilt, HYDRA Trash Party, Hallucinations, I put that up because there are some additional story elements that might not be for everyone, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Unreliable Narrator, another town - another sad and lonely apartment for bucky barnes, but from a storytelling point of view I don't like listing them here, but not necessarily a healthy one, cabin fever, mind the 'author chose not to use archive warnings' tag, touch starved bucky, which is also a way to deal with horrible memories, will put up extra notes below where people can avoid them if they don't like being spoilered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-17 07:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16512125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeestainanalyst/pseuds/coffeestainanalyst
Summary: Instead of going back into cryo in Wakanda, Bucky has to stay home and deal with his blown-off arm and trigger word riddled brain on his own. With what’s left of the Avengers on the run from the government, Bucky holes up in a small apartment, haunted by violently resurfacing memories and an increasingly guilty conscience – which, to no one’s surprise, takes on the form of Steve Rogers.





	Room for Two

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [taydev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taydev) for being my second pair of eyes. If anything's still off about this, I either missed it or insisted. 
> 
> Spoilery extra warnings in the End Notes below.

**Room for Two**

_I know what you did._

It starts the same, always. With Steve pinning Bucky face down into the ragged mattress, immobilizing him with the entire weight of his body. Bucky’s no match for him now, not with whatever frayed pieces are left of his metal arm.

It’s not the real Steve, of course, just the one in Bucky’s head. The only one that’s around.

He grabs a fistful of Bucky’s hair, twists so hard Bucky’s mouth falls open in a half-scream, and even through his sweatpants Bucky feels Steve’s erection pressing against him.

That’s another difference: this Steve has no problem getting it up for him.

The hand in his hair tugs and Bucky grunts in pain.

_I know what you did._

"No," Bucky says, breathlessly, because whatever Steve drags up is never pleasant and Bucky can’t, he can’t anymore.

"You started talking to them," Steve asks, "Why?"

"I didn’t," Bucky insists, feeling as though Steve’s crushing his lungs. "Name, rank, serial number, that’s all, I swear."

"Yeah? What’s the number?"

Bucky licks his chapped lips. "3-2-5…5?" It seems so long ago, another life. "James Buchanan Barnes," he tries again, "Sergeant, 3-2-5-5-7… 5-7…"

"…0-3-8." Steve finishes angrily, twisting his fist further into Bucky’s hair. "What was the first thing you said? Don’t? _Please_?"

"Nothing! I – I don’t remember."

"Did you offer them information if they stopped?"

"No! No, not that."

Sharp pain makes him see stars as Steve yanks his head up. "I thought you didn’t remember."

"I wouldn’t do that!"

"How can you be sure?"

Bucky’s reply dies in his throat as his pants are pulled down. Disgust floods him even before it starts. He can’t move. He can’t move. He can’t move.

Steve’s voice is cold. "You know what, let’s try that again."

It’s like being stabbed with a blunt object, that’s what it’s like. Steve’s cock slides in so deep, feels so solid as only objects do, and… and it’s shameful, his entire body soars with it, and it _burns_ , god, and with every sharp snap of Steve’s hips the air is punched out of Bucky’s chest.

"Barnes," he whispers. "James – Buchanan – Barnes. Sergeant. 3-2-5-5…7-0-3-8. James – Buchanan – Barnes…"

—-

 

"Are you sulking?" Steve asks.

Bucky’s bent over a pack of cards, unevenly shuffling them with one hand on a white plastic table, the only seating accommodation his hideout provides. He stacks the cards back together and deals out. It’s a game for one.

"Don’t be childish," Steve says. He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Look at the mattress, ’s full of stains. And we both know that wasn’t me." He shakes his head. "You like it alright."

Bucky’s puts some cards on the table and discards one.

"I’d like it… differently."

"Well." Steve shrugs. "Pity you don’t deserve that. Besides, you had a lot worse. Remember before Zola returned? When you had no arm and no purpose, and the guards were so bored? _That_ was cruel, I grant you that."

Bucky bares his teeth. "Nope, I didn’t remember. Thanks for reminding me." Each card he puts down lands on the table with a sharp smack.

Steve hums, unimpressed. "Got better though, right? Later, some of them almost worshipped you. Besides… Hydra’s not known for hiring the old and ugly, right?"

"What the hell’s that supposed to mean?"

"Oh." Steve holds his hand up in submission. "Just saying, a guy with your… inclination. I bet you saw some things over the years that weren’t exactly insulting to the eyes. Did you stain some of _their_ mattresses, too?" He tilts his head. "I bet some of them only got ideas because they caught you staring."

"I didn’t want them," Bucky snaps, cards forgotten. "None of them. Ever."

Steve scratches his chin. "Do you remember Matvey?"

" _No_ ," Bucky says, so quickly Steve looks like a cat who just caught a bird.

An image appears before Bucky’s inner eye, a young soldier in soviet uniform, not as bulky as others around him, with sharp features and hair just a touch too long for protocol.

"Bomb disposal technician?" Steve smiles. "Hm. More like a bomb builder."

Bucky swallows. Thinks of a compound down under, a winter so cold the water in the pipes froze. A blond man with a pirate smile.

"It was all the same to him," Bucky murmurs. "He was in it for the thrill."

Steve keeps digging. "You drove out with them to the testing site and watched him work until his lips turned blue, and his eyes lit up like the explosion he caused when he succeeded." They both get lost in the memory for a while.

"You saved his life too, right?" Steve continues. "Once you rubbed the warmth right back into him when he overstayed his calculated time outside and collapsed."

"My orders were to protect him."

"Sure." Steve nods generously. "You watched him under the shower too," he says. "Was that part of your assignment?" Steve laughs. "He wasn’t shy about his body, and he was…"

"…beautiful," Bucky murmurs, hand covering his mouth. _No_.

"Then what," Steve asks, and Bucky remembers a dimly lit room, a cell, Matvey setting down a tray of food.

A muted conversation in Russian, plans for tomorrow. A nod, Matvey turns to leave and – no, no.

Metal knuckles brushing a shirt-sleeved arm, dark eyes snapping up to his. A moment in between, the ghost of a smile, and those cold lips his to warm. Yes.

No. Bucky snaps back into the here and now by Steve’s hysterical burst of laughter.

"You," he says. "You started it. Oh my god. A handler! You touched a handler unprompted! He could have had you beaten to a pulp for that." Steve throws his head back. "And you actually have the guts to tell me they forced you."

The smile fades from Steve’s lips, becomes something hard and cold.

"Don’t lie to me again, Buck."

Bucky swallows. Hangs his head.

"Now." Steve claps his hands, cheerful again. "Was it any good? Your night with Matvey?"

Bucky, still looking at the floor, shrugs.

"What?" Steve slaps his arm. "Was he better than me?"

Bucky jerks away, face burning. "He was _there_ ," he snarls, and regrets it even as he says it, but it’s too late.

"Steve," Bucky says. "Steve, please."

But the room is dark and Steve is gone.

—-

"Time you took responsibility for your crimes," Steve says one afternoon. Maybe it’s Monday. Maybe not.

Bucky’s working on cracking open canned food with his one remaining arm and a can opener. He glances over. If he ignores Steve, he might just let it go.

No such luck.

"All the bullshit with the torture and the mind wipes – that you’re not responsible for anything because they made you do it. How could anybody read your files and still believe your stupid ass sob story?" Steve falls into the plastic chair at the dirty white table, sighing in disbelief.

Bucky sets down the can opener. One sharp edge of his vibranium stump makes more progress in a matter of seconds than he’s made in the last five minutes.

"Ain’t that exactly what those files are about? Torture and mind wipes?" Bucky shoves a spoon into the can. He shovels the beans into his mouth right there over the sink, not looking up.

"Sure is," Steve says. "And how little it worked, too. Erratic behavior, injured scientists left and right. Successfully or not pal, seems you were pretty set on putting a foot down when it came to your personal comfort. Pity you never had any of those disobedient episodes when they sent you out to kill."

Bucky’s expression is hard as he finally lifts his eyes at Steve. "Who says I haven’t?"

Steve laughs. "The dead."

—-

Steve’s at the door. It’s the real one this time, the other one doesn’t bring takeaway. He also doesn’t do that look, between shy and guilty.

"Hey Buck."

He no longer takes off his shoes since he cut himself on broken glass once.

"I wanted to call but we had to go dark."

He follows Bucky into the room, says _oh_ , and heads for the window. "How about we let in some air?"

The open window paints targets on both their heads, but Bucky says nothing.

They eat. Steve brought something from one of the places that pack their food in paper, not in those plastic containers that are such a pain to open single handedly, and Steve does not once reach over to assist in some way. Good. (Maybe he’s worried Bucky’ll stab his hand with the fork for real this time.)

Later, Steve tries a bit of talking and then tries a bit of silence, and he testily brushes against Bucky’s side, and touches his shoulder, and rubs circles on his palm with his thumb.

And Bucky’s weak, and weak, and weak, and then it’s too late.

"How about we hop into the shower?" Steve asks, and Bucky laughs bitterly.

"It doesn’t come off."

He doesn’t have to look at Steve the see his face go from sad to determined. "C’mon. Let’s lay down a bit," Steve says.

Bucky’s mattress on the floor looks like some monster hatched from it: the stump’s sharp edges slice it open when he dreams. It’s dirty too, disgusting – he shouldn’t let Steve see, and he shouldn’t allow to happen what he knows is gonna happen.

They’re gonna lie down, Steve behind him, warmth seeping over. Steve’s shirt is too thin, Bucky will feel his chest underneath, warm skin and muscle rising and falling, so close, so real, and Bucky’s body will betray him. He won’t move, won’t shift his hips, won’t _breathe_ – but Steve will know.

He’ll ask before he’ll press his palm between Bucky’s thighs, and Bucky won’t be strong enough to resist. He’ll hump that hand like a dog and make noises that will shame him to the bone. And then, maybe, probably, when he’s close, he’s gonna wriggle around and press his lips against Steve’s like he’s starving. Those lips that have licked Hydra boots, mashed against Steve’s. And Steve will take it silently, and afterwards he’ll stroke Bucky’s hair.

Bucky needs to say no, and he doesn’t.

—-

 

"This time, he won’t be coming back," Steve says. He’s small today, young, like the boy Bucky left when he first shipped out to Europe.

"You say that every time," Bucky grunts.

"Look how soon he left again," Steve says. "You should have given him more reason to stay. Talk to him! Make him smile! Anything that makes his visits worth his while."

Bucky sighs. "Wouldn’t know how."

"You aren’t even trying. He’s out there, fighting to fix things, keep everyone safe, keep _you_ safe, and then he takes a night off and all he gets is another war zone."

"He’ll come back," Bucky murmurs. "He feels responsible. He thinks it’s his fault I fell into HYDRA’s hands."

"Is it?"

Bucky snorts. "Of course not."

"Tell him."

Bucky busies himself with shifting things around on the table. He picks up a glass to carry to the sink. Steve steps in his way.

"What the fuck, Bucky? That’s one hell of a burden to carry, tell him it’s not his fault!"

"He wouldn’t believe me."

"Bullshit! You don’t even try, because as long as he feels guilty he won’t abandon you."

Bucky steps around him, sets down the glass and starts filling the sink with water. "I can’t lose him again."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Because you love him?"

Bucky shrugs, not turning. "What’s it to you?"

"That’s not love," Steve spits out. "Love is when you want the other person to be happy!"

Bucky hears his footsteps approach, still the glass breaks in his soapy hand as Steve grabs his shoulder harshly. "Do you think Steve is happy, huh? Do you make Steve happy?"

Bucky shrugs him off, reaching for a towel. "Give me more time. I’ll find something else to… to give him a reason for…"

"Fuck you!" Steve shouts. "Look at me!"

Bucky doesn’t.

"God," Steve says, with obvious disdain. "Hydra’s nowhere to be seen, and you are still despicable."

Bucky keeps collecting shards until he’s alone.

"He’ll come back for me," he repeats into the darkness.

—-

 

"He suspects," Steve says, licking Bucky’s earlobe. He’s still not real, but tall again, and his beard scratches Bucky’s cheek.

"How?"

"He knows you. Or maybe he knows Hydra. There’s no chance they wouldn’t try to hurt you, and all you stood for, in every way possible. He’s not naive."

Bucky sighs. Right.

Steve slips his hands underneath Bucky’s shirt, runs them up his chest. "That’s why he can’t touch you like that."

Bucky pulls off his shirt. "But you can," he says. "So shut up now and keep going."

Steve grins like a shark and dives for Bucky’s nipples." Oh," Bucky gasps. "God, yes."

"You know," Steve mouths against the pink flush of Bucky’s chest, "If it was for him, he wouldn’t touch you at all. It’s hard for him even looking at you. A constant reminder of all that they took; from you, from him. How little there’s left of you."

"I know," Bucky whines, "I know but don’t stop, please, don’t stop." He lets his knees fall apart, lets Steve crawl between his thighs and touch his flank, his cock, firm hands on starving skin. " _Oh_. Oh yes."

"You two were so close, two parts of the same coin," Steve says. "People mentioned you in one breath. What Hydra did to you, they kinda did to him, to that symbol, you know?"

"Please," Bucky murmurs, "Please shut up and keep – ah – yes, right there –"

"You really should have kept that in mind before you fell on your knees for them."

Bucky keens at Steve’s touch. "Yes," he pants. "I know."

Steve shifts his weight and suddenly there are fingers down there, on that sensitive skin behind his scrotum, circling –

"You should have fought harder," Steve says. "Should have resisted."

Bucky cheeks burn like the rest of his body. "Do it," he orders.

The fingers breach him, maybe Steve’s, maybe his own. He shouldn't want this but it feels so good, drowns out all the rest, especially when he rocks his hips up just so and holds his breath until there’s nothing but the pleasure pulsating in his belly, spreading, spreading –

 _"_ He used to look up to you, you know?" Steve says. "Now all he can see is Hydra’s whore."

Bucky sobs and his entire body jerks up as he comes, three fingers buried knuckles deep inside him. He keeps sobbing when he’s done.

—-

 

"Are you bored?" Steve asks. It’s getting colder, summer’s come and gone.

"No."

"Why don’t you read the book he gave you? He’s gonna ask again when you see him. Gonna look all hopeful, and then sad. Your fault. _Again."_

Bucky presses his eyelids shut. "He thinks it’s gonna make a difference, but it won’t. Not if I read that book, not even if I remembered. The Bucky Barnes he knew is dead."

"And here’s a 200 page manual on how to revive him. Congrats!"

"What?"

"The book, don’t you see? A biography! A detailed description of a man Steve can love! You think of him all day and when he finally comes to visit you don’t know what to say or do to please him. Read it up!"

Bucky shakes his head. "I don’t want to. It’s boring."

"Then why do you keep clutching at it at night, huh? You think I can’t see you in the dark? The cover’s all worn from your grubby fingers."

Bucky stands up, but Steve doesn’t let him turn away. "You’re a coward, that’s why. What are you afraid of?"

"I’m not afraid," Bucky insists. "It’s just. History glorifies the dead, you know? This book’s probably full of praise and touching anecdotes, of people going on about what a saint Bucky Barnes was. And all I can see is… the better he was, the further I have fallen, right? What good is it to dwell on that?"

Steve raises his hands, exasperated. "I told you – to know what Steve’s looking for! He still thinks you’re worth saving, that somewhere somehow there might be a shred of his Bucky left in you. He doesn’t expect miracles, but hand him a little finger, dammit!"

"And how would I do that?!" It’s more an accusation than a question.

"Start with the photos," Steve says, unimpressed. "There, right in the middle of the book. Look at his… your expression. It’s kinda charming, don’t you think? Human, in any case. There, try it. Go to the mirror."

"That’s stupid," Bucky says. "I feel stupid. It’s not working."

"What’s stupid is your hair," Steve says. "Look at these pictures. Two years into the war and Sergeant Barnes looked less grimy than you do now. Smelled better, too."

Bucky barks out a laugh. "So what, should I cut it?"

"God, no", Steve says. "A one-handed haircut is not gonna improve anything. Just clean up and maybe tie it back. And try that expression again."

"Stupid," Bucky whispers. "Stupid." His thumb gently rubs over a photo of Steve and he sighs.

—-

 

"Okay," Steve says, standing before Bucky’s kneeling figure. "Let’s try it. Remember the book and control your face. Less robot, more Bucky Barnes."

Bucky rolls his eyes, and to his surprise, the corners of Steve’s mouth tug upwards. "That’s fine too. Tease me. Call me a jerk." Bucky does, and Steve nods approvingly.

Bucky hooks a finger into the front pocket of Steve’s jeans, tugging him closer towards his face. "Alright, come here," he says. He weighs his head thoughtfully, tries again. "C’mere."

At first, Steve’s belt doesn’t come loose between Bucky’s nervous fingers. There was a time when he’d hated the metal arm, but ripped off it’s no good either. Fortunately, Steve seems to be in a good mood and reaches down to help. His cock is half-hard as it springs free.

A wave of relief floods Bucky’s chest. "It works," he says. "I arouse you."

Steve hums. "He used to love this. Got off on it real hard. If you manage to give him this, you could score some real points."

Bucky nods. He leans in and catches Steve between his lips, swallows him down deeply. Steve’s not setting a pace, so Bucky bobs his head in a rhythm that he hopes feels good. He brings his nose all the way down to brush Steve’s pubes before he pulls back again, allowing himself one short breath before he dives down again.

After a while he glances up at Steve’s face, trying to gauge his expression. He doesn’t look impressed. Bucky let’s Steve’s cock plop out of his mouth. Used to be bigger a minute ago. "What?" he asks.

"He wants Bucky Barnes, not a fuckhole without a gag reflex," Steve says, and Bucky’s posture stiffens.

"But –"

"No but. Besides, come on, his dick is quite impressive. You really think you could take it this deep without all the drool and snot and ugly gagging sounds he really wouldn’t like? Don’t flatter yourself."

"I want him to have what’s best," Bucky says, defensively. "And that’s what they took when they could take whatever they wanted. How can it not be what feels best?"

"Is that an honest question?" Steve frowns at him for a long moment, then shakes his head and reaches down to zip himself up again. "You’re hopeless."

"Wait!" Bucky grabs his thigh. "Don’t stop. Tell me what to do. Tell me what he likes."

"You won’t be able to do it."

"Let me try!" Bucky bites his lip. "Please. One more chance."

Steve sighs. "Listen. It’s not just about the touching for him, it’s about who’s doing it, ok? Now Bucky Barnes, he turned a lot of heads, but in the end he came home to Steve. Steve, who always admired him, and loved him with that urgency you love people that you secretly think are out of your league. Bucky Barnes was flirty and charming and proud, and he wouldn’t have knelt for anyone, but he did for Steve – because he _wanted_ to."

Bucky considers this, faint memories gnawing away at the back of his mind. He squeezes his eyes shut. "You’re right. This was a stupid idea."

Steve tips up Bucky’s chin playfully. "Then again, Steve’s also _just a guy._ A guy who hasn’t been laid in a long time. A good tongue technique might make up for the lack of personality surprisingly well."

Bucky swallows. "Walk me through."

"Fine," Steve says, guiding his cock back in Bucky’s general direction. "Now he likes the tip played with, remember? There, worry it between your lips, yes, like that. Lick at it with the flat of your tongue – _oh_ , yeah. Now work your way down. Gently at first, like it’s a real delicious ice cream stick or something."

"Hm. I remember loving this," Bucky murmurs. "Feeling him grow hard in my mouth."

Steve moans. "Time for retrospecting: not now," he says and pushes his dick back into Bucky’s face. "Ah, yeah, thanks."

Steve’s small noises of pleasure turn even more enticing; low, appreciative sounds that make Bucky’s chest glow and his own dick stir. He freezes as he notices.

"Sh, don’t be silly," Steve scolds him. "Nobody’s gonna hurt you for it. Quite the opposite, Steve’s gonna want you to enjoy yourself, remember?"

"Yes," Bucky says. "I just – I wasn’t thinking."

"See that you do when you try this with him," Steve orders. "Nothing’s more of a turn-off for him than that scared face. Remember: Flirty. Charming."

"Yeah," Bucky echoes. He tries to get into the motion again. It gets easier when Steve starts sounding enthusiastic again, starts quivering underneath Bucky’s touch because Bucky’s doing something _good_ , giving Steve a real nice time.

"Can I –?" Bucky’s hand hovers over Steve’s flank.

" _Yes_ ," Steve says, "Don’t ask him that. Once he lets you polish his dick you’re allowed to put your hands elsewhere, too."

Bucky swallows. His heart beats in his ears but he manages to place his hand on Steve’s hip, even slips his fingers underneath his shirt. (They would have wiped the floor with him if he’d – no. Focus.) He carefully busies himself with Steve’s cock, not looking up in case Steve might see something off-putting on his face again.

It feels incredible though. Steve feels incredible. The warmth radiating from his skin, the familiar scent, the scratchy trail of hair from his navel down. And as Bucky carefully traces Steve’s hipbone with his thumb, his own dick jumps painfully again. Steve presses back against him firmly, moaning in encouragement. Bucky sucks like he’s starving, and god, look at those thick muscles of Steve’s thigh bunch up as he trails Bucky’s touch.

Bucky grips him hard, and having a second arm would be useful right now, because he’d jerk himself into oblivion.

Steve’s shouts and floods his mouth, again and again, and Bucky swallows cum, and _shame_ and – _Don’t be stupid_ , he reminds himself. This is Steve, you wanted this and you made him feel good. This is not defeat.

He thinks of the man in the book, flirty and charming, so he wipes his mouth with a trembling hand and puts on a smile.

—-

 

"Watch’a drawing?" Bucky asks. Steve looks different today, small and thin, crouching at the table with a sketchbook in his lap.

"Can I look?"

Steve angles the paper away. "No. I’m not drawing, I’m playing a game."

"Oh?"

Steve ignores him and starts scribbling again. Actually, it sounds more like writing.

"Hm. How about a game of cards?" Bucky asks, grabbing the well worn packet from the window sill. He snips it open, taps the cards against the table and starts shuffling. He’s getting used to doing things with one hand, and the cards fold and unfold elegantly.

"I’m not playing with you," Steve says. "Who knows what you’ll do to me if I lose."

Bucky frowns. "What do you think I’ll –" He stops dead. He’s in Siberia, training with the other Winter Soldiers. The last fight of the day counts.

Bucky’s eyes widen, and he goes cold. He shoves the cards back into the box. "Forget I said anything." He stands up as Steve grabs his wrist.

"Stop running."

"Steve," Bucky says, desperate. "Let’s not… let’s not think of that right now." He steps out of Steve’s grasp, sets the cards back on the window sill.

Steve stands, too. "Time you remembered."

"No."

"Coward! Was it your idea?"

Bucky whips around. "No! No, of course not. When I was brought in they had already set up the rules."

"They? Hydra or the Winter Soldiers?"

"I don’t know! The — the Soldiers I think. They took their training very seriously, they wanted to up the game. For motivation, I guess." Bucky wipes at his face.

"You… guess?" Steve’s raised eyebrow gives Bucky a very clear idea on what Steve thinks of that.

"Yes, I – listen, there wasn’t much talking going on, especially not between them and me. Do you think they gave me an introduction? No. The first time, they suddenly started counting hitpoints, and they were – they were pumped full of something, they didn’t even blink when they took a hit, they were — and then, when I —"

"… lost?" Steve supplies.

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair. "Yes, then, they held me down, four against one, I had no chance, and they — you know."

"Hm," Steve says. He sits back down, starts scribbling again. "But you geared up, right? Didn’t always lose."

"Steve," Bucky whispers. "Steve, I beg you, let it go."

"Did they beg _you_ when you raped them?"

"Don’t say that!" Bucky’s fist clenches and unclenches compulsively at his side. Steve just looks up at him, eyes a cold, deep blue.

Bucky sinks into his chair, looking at Steve imploringly. "That’s not what it was. It was more like — the loser begrudgingly had to put it out for the winners."

"Oh wow," Steve says, focusing back on the paper in his lap. "Begrudgingly. There was struggling though?"

"Of course there was struggling! It’s not like it felt nice, they made sure of that. So you’d fight better next time." Bucky sighs. "Besides. If you don’t struggle enough, they’ll just tell you you like it. I should know. Despite what you think, I lost more often than not."

"You didn’t have to do it," Steve says. "When you won."

"Yes, I did," Bucky insists. "Me not joining wouldn’t have changed a thing, and they’d only seen me as weak. Steve, it was life or death there, I couldn’t afford that."

" _God."_ Steve’s dry laughter drowns in the rustle of paper. "That’s on you though, you realize that? No trigger words, no mind wipes. You can’t blame that one on Hydra."

Bucky chews at his lower lip. "I didn’t… enjoy it or anything."

"Well, in that case…" Steve says sarcastically.

"No, for real." Bucky rubs his face. "Also, you’ve never been fucked by a super soldier who’s all pumped up from battle, huh? Tell you a secret, pal; It’s over _really_ fast. It was… more symbolic than anything." He chokes on the laugh he tries to cough up.

"Do you hear yourself talk?" Steve leans over. The sudden crack of his fist against the table surface makes Bucky jump. "Can you imagine how you sound to anybody who’s not _completely sick in the head_?" He hisses the last part directly into Bucky’s face. Bucky shrinks back, Steve’s breath on his cheek.

"There was a woman, too, wasn’t there?"

They had no names back then, only numbers, but Bucky remembers a face.

"третий," Bucky whispers. "The Third. Everybody was scared of her. She had a real cruel streak."

"You rape her too?"

Bucky blinks up at Steve. "She was… she was insanely strong, she used to wipe the floor with us."

"Most of the time," Steve says, and Bucky’s breath hitches. "Yes."

"But not always."

"No." Bucky rubs his face. "But … we wouldn’t have… we wouldn’t have hurt her like a woman. I mean… I. Everyone was punished the same way, you know. So it’d be fair."

Steve barks out a laugh. " _Amazing_ ," he says. "Remind me of that the next time someone writes a book about Bucky fucking Barnes and his overblown sense of justice, so I can tell them he rapes everyone the same way. They’ll love that."

Bucky exhales shakily. "Steve, please."

"He’ll never forgive you," Steve says. "Not that. He threw everything out of the window for you, the entire life he’d built up since he’d been defrosted. Hasn’t looked back once. But that – no. Not even for you."

"You didn’t know them," Bucky tries, desperately. "You didn’t see their eyes, they… they were inhuman… they were not real people." He swallows. "None of us were."

Steve’s smile grows feral. He slaps the paper down on the table between them. "Bingo," he says.

Bucky looks up at him questioningly.

"Take it," Steve orders, forcing the paper into Bucky’s hands. It’s full of crossed out phrases, arranged in a set of boxes.

"Every single one," Steve says, voice hard and cold. "I could tick off every single one."

_~~I didn’t make the rules.~~ _

~~_Me not joining wouldn’t have changed a thing._ ~~

~~_They would have hurt me if I resisted._ ~~

"What the –" Bucky tries to shove the sheet of paper back at Steve, who slaps his hand away.

_~~I needed him to respect me.~~ _

~~_I didn’t enjoy it._ ~~

~~_It wasn’t rape._ ~~

"You know what this is," Steve says. "It’s what they all say. Every single Hydra agent that has ever hurt you."

_~~He hardly felt it.~~ _

~~_He’s not even human._ ~~

"So what’s it gonna be, Buck?" Steve asks. "Are they right? Then you gotta let them off the hook too. Or are you calling bullshit? Because then I’ve got really bad news for you."

"No," Bucky groans, throwing the paper away. "No." He sinks down, face buried in his palm.

"Monster," Steve says. And indeed, the sounds clawing their way up Bucky’s throat do not sound human at all.

—-

 

"That’s not an option," Steve states flatly, shaking his head in disbelief. "How could you forget?" He’s wet, the shower’s still running, even though the water has gone cold. It’s crowded in there with Bucky crouched on the ground beside him.

"You were _freaking_ the first time this happened. Absolutely, fucking losing it." He’s gesticulating, but Bucky stares past him. There’s blood on him; on the sharp spikes of metal of his left shoulder, on the other arm, wrist to elbow. While some’s still swirling down the drain, Bucky’s skin has already healed to nothing more than a few unruly, pinkish lines. Even those are fading.

"That was – was that in Austria even? No, Russia I think, but you didn’t have the arm yet. Wasn’t easy doing that one handedly, huh? At first you thought that was why it wasn’t working." Steve wipes water from his brow. "Man, when you realized it was because of what they’d done to you! You saw for the first time how deep those changes went, that you could practically watch your wounds heal, that you were — that you had no idea what you were, what they’d turned you into. It wasn’t you against them anymore, there was no longer a _you_. Only them and their creation."

Bucky sets his jaw. He opens his eyes even though the water’s pouring down on him.

Steve reaches up and turns it off. The world turns silent very loudly.

"You still feel that, don’t you? More than ever. That every inch of skin, every bone, every muscle in this body is theirs."

Bucky gets up, steps out of the shower. He does not reach for a towel, disappears straight into the living room.

When Steve steps through the door a bit later, Bucky sits on the plastic chair by the kitchen, still naked. He’s got a gun in his hand. After a swirl around his finger, he points it at Steve. "You took my bullets."

Steve nods. "I hid them."

The entire table creaks as Bucky jams the gun down. He looks at Steve hatefully. "Why?"

"You know why. " Steve steps closer.

Bucky bares his teeth, but Steve doesn’t back off. "You’ve been weak before. They could never have broken you otherwise. I knew you’d be weak again."

Bucky’s cold eyes come up to him. "What does it matter? One less monster walking the earth."

"Because it’s a waste!" Steve says. "Not many people can deal real damage to Hydra. You could, if you got your act together."

"Ha!" Bucky laughs bitterly. "I can hardly wipe my own ass nowadays! I don’t remember their hideouts, and if they got their hands on me… you know what happened last time. A couple of trigger words and we’re back at the fucking start!"

"Because you’re a coward!" Steve shoots back. "You keep fighting your memories because you’re too afraid to face what you’ve done. You hide out here, allow yourself to be a burden to Steve because you’re scared shitless at the thought of having the arm replaced, of having your brain picked to remove those triggers!"

"It’s not like I can walk into a fucking hospital!" Bucky spits. "And in case you haven’t noticed, there’s kind of a shortage on people who create weaponized prosthetics and also dabble in lobotomies!"

"Well, I for one know a guy," Steve says icily.

Bucky swallows. "I hate you."

Steve smiles. "And I’m the best part of you."

—-

 

The text isn’t signed. It isn’t necessary.

_We have to move. Tomorrow, same time, same place. Take everything._

It’s no surprise. In the end, they’ll always come for him, and for Steve because of him, and for everyone else who hasn’t shot at them at the airport.

"You could stop it," Steve says. "Two birds with one stone."

"Bullshit."

"It’s true. Steve has crossed the government before, but they always came around. They need him, and his Avenger gang too. But Stark doesn’t. And he’s got the kind of power to make sure none of them will ever find peace again."

Bucky eyes him with a frown. "You really think he could make it stop?"

"Stop the CIA from chasing you? Get some kind of truce for Steve and his friends, even though they top the Most Wanted List of several countries? Just like that?" He snaps his fingers. "Yes. Yes, I think he can."

"How?"

"Oh, don’t be naive! Steve might run on nothing but thin air and justice, but the world doesn’t. Stark’s got the money, and he’s got the influence. Military, government, media, he’s got connections everywhere, and where he hasn’t he has a checkbook or an envelope with incriminating photos to do the trick. I promise you, Steve’s visiting poor little children in hospitals again by this time next week if Stark wants him to."

"Mh." Bucky hums thoughtfully, and spreads the blinders apart to take a look outside. It’s bright.

"No one’s got any leverage on Stark though. No one but you."

"I know. "

"He’d be willing to make a deal. You surrender to him – to him, not to the police or the military or anyone – just him, discreetly, so he doesn’t have to share you with anyone."

Bucky grinds his teeth.

 _"_ You’re considering it," Steve states, sounding surprised. "I didn’t expect that. There might be something of Sergeant Barnes left inside you after all."

Bucky shakes his head. "Steve and his friends shouldn’t suffer for what I’ve done. Besides, this could be mutually beneficial. Stark could… he could fix the arm. Maybe he knows somebody who could fix my brain."

"Why would he? What makes you sure he won’t kill you the moment you turn yourself over?"

"He might. But if I turn myself in to him, he’s in no hurry. Wouldn’t it be more satisfying to _almost_ kill me every day instead? And if he’s keeping me, at least for a while, it’s in his best interest to de-weaponize me as thoroughly as possible. He’ll do it for his own safety, and because it means he can poke me with his fancy gadgets."

"You’d be defenseless."

"I’d be useless to Hydra. He hates them, too. When I’ll remember more, if I feed him the right information, he might unleash hell on them the way I can’t."

"He won’t turn you over to the authorities," Steve says. "He’ll keep it a secret, keep you locked up somewhere without anyone knowing. Nobody to watch his fingers."

Bucky nods slowly.

"He’ll never let you go again."

"Not in his _lifetime_ ," Bucky says. "How old do you think he is?"

"Mh, 50 plus, I’d say?"

"Right. If the serum’s good for anything, I can sit it out."

"Yeah," Steve says, not hiding the sarcasm in his tone. "That’s like, 30, 40 something years. You’ve had worse."

"Besides," Bucky says, "He might get tired of me even sooner. I mean. Does he look like a guy with a terribly long attention span to you?"

"Well," Steve says. "That’s a good point."

They look out of the window silently for a while, shoulders brushing.

Unexpectedly, Steve’s fingers touch his. "Are you scared?"

Bucky glances over at him, more tired than anything. "Does it make a difference?"

Steve smiles, softer than Bucky remembers him smiling in a long time. "I guess not."

Bucky laughs softly, too. "Well then." He straightens up and turns around." D’you recon an important guy like him’s in the phone book?"

—-

 

Vision is missing. Scarlet Witch is missing. Bucky is missing. By 0750, Steve is going through all curses he’s ever learned in multiple languages.

Sam whistles in admiration. "Impressive." He grabs his backpack from the quinjet. "I’m going for the lovebirds, you’re going for Barnes?"

"Guys," Natasha says.

Steve nods. "If you don’t get a hold of them by noon, you’re leaving without them."

" _Guys_ ," Natasha repeats.

Both men turn their heads, just in time for Natasha throwing Steve a newspaper.

"Seems we’re no longer fugitives."

By 0800, Steve runs.

—-

 

The front door is open, and that is never, ever a good sign.

" _Bucky?"_ Steve rushes in and the apartment’s empty; empty rooms, empty cabinet – " _Bucky?!_ " Not a sign somebody’s been living here for several weeks.

A sense of dread fills Steve’s stomach, numbs him. The place looks unfamiliar with the windows open, flooded with light. Even the floor has been polished.

Steve charges into the bathroom, – " _Bucky?!_ " – though he already knows he’s alone. He stumbles back out and there, on the table lies the only object that betrays the fact anybody’s been here at all.

A book, the book Steve gifted Bucky when he moved him in. It was supposed to keep him company, and maybe jog his memories. It looks well used now, and it shakes between Steve’s fingers. Nothing hidden inside but oh, there. An inscription that hasn’t been there before.

_Hey Steve,_

_I finally got around to reading your book. Boy, do they exaggerate! Have you considered suing? There might be real money in this._

_Anyway, I don’t need it anymore because I remembered the important bits. Sorry it took me so long. I got a few things to sort out, don’t look for me._

_And hey, I’m not having big expectations anymore, but just don’t get yourself killed while I’m gone. Build that house you used to talk about. Share it with someone who makes you smile._

_Don’t forget to incorporate a guest room though, because who knows, someday I might stand in your doorway and you won’t even remember I was gone._

_Love always,_

_Bucky_

Steve sinks into the chair, lungs aching as if they’re filled with icy water. The book drops out of his hands onto the table. From the cover, worn and scraped, Bucky smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> *Wooo Spoilery Warnings  
> Bucky beats himself up over the things he did, and in his mind it's Steve who scolds and punishes him for it. So if you can't take the thought of even hallucinated!Steve being an asshole, this fic is probably not for you. There's also talk of the Winter Solder as rapist and mentions of suicide attempts.


End file.
